Lost But Not Forgotten
by KindOfaBlonde
Summary: Faith and Spike have a tangled and complicated history - that Faith doesn't remember at all. What happens when Spike begins to have second thoughts on his decision to remove himself from her life for her own good?  very much AU
1. Chapter 1

He was getting careless. Sloppy. And he knew it, too. But, it didn't matter. Not if he could just see her – even from afar. He just had to know she was okay. He had to see her and watch her and know she was still alive.

And tonight would be the perfect night for watching. Uninterrupted, and not nagged for it either. Buffy and the whole sodding Scooby gang were taking the night off to have some bonding movie night or some other bollocks like that. This, he knew because he'd gotten a phone call from Rupert not two hours before telling him so – and requesting he take a night off himself.

"Yes, I think it would be for the best for us all to take a break. You too, Spike. You've been out every night…longer even then Buffy."

Sighing on the other end of the line, Spike could hear all the concealed subtext to this little chat. They were worried about him. He wasn't coping properly. Well blah bloody blah, he didn't give a shit. It was his life; let him muck it up however he wanted to.

"It's not healthy, really, you need to take the proper time to g-"

Spike had hung up the phone before he could get to the 'g' word. He didn't use that word. Or participate in it. He had better things to do – like kill every demon and vampire he could get his hands on. Killing helped, it was a good outlet. But one he would be deprived of tonight.

To watch her.

Given the night off, he knew exactly where she would go. Certainly not be a part of the cuddly movie fest the rest of them were having – not her style. Really, the bird was so bloody predictable. He used to joke that a smart vampire might figure out her pension for only carrying one stake a night and take advantage of her cockiness. He wasn't laughing about it anymore. Now, he was afraid this sort of thing would get her killed – especially without him watching her back. Because he knew bloody well that the others only barely just tolerated her on their team…they certainly weren't going out of their way to make sure she lived. So the job fell to him, still. Even if she didn't know about it.

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><p>The Bronze. Okay, yeah, it was, like, cheese central. But c'mon, it was <em>Sunnydale<em>. Where else was she supposed to go to get drunk and dance on her night off? Besides, compared to some of the other places around town, this place was like some club straight out of Hollywood. So, a night free of patrol duty meant she would be shaking her ass right here, thanks very much.

Sitting at the bar, Faith was nursing a glass of whiskey and reflecting on life and shit in general. Not really what she'd set out to do tonight…maybe she was getting mellow with age, who knew? Ever since the big showdown with The Beast – well, what she could remember of it anyway, her memory got real dicey in some places. But the doctors told her that was normal, so hey – she felt…different. Like, you know when you lose something wicked important, but you can't even remember what it is you lost? But you just know something is missing? Yeah, that feeling had been nagging at her for months now.

Giles had practically abducted her into Slayer rehab - or whatever he was calling it - as soon as she'd gotten the okay to leave the hospital. Which, you know, was fine by her since she didn't have anywhere to go anyway and maybe she was really friggin' tired of fighting the good fight without anybody recognizing her for it. Well, okay 'fighting the good fight' was a little bit of stretch – but she had definitely stopped fighting the good guys and being alone got…lonely. And now she really did fight the good fight. Patrol schedules, and lessons and training and the whole nine fucking yards.

It was a lot harder to go out and get a good, senseless lay when you were busy saving the world and shit.

Which was why tonight was supposed to about exactly the opposite of sitting by herself and brooding like she was Angel or some crap like that.

"C'mon, Lehane, get in the game." She mumbled to herself, knocking back the rest of her drink before moving out into the middle of the dance floor. It took her a few minutes to get into it, to lose herself in the beat and just roll with it. But once she fell into that familiar groove, it was like she was gone. Her body moved, swayed and rolled of its own accord and she just closed her eyes and held on.

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><p>By the time he got to the club, things seemed to be in full swing. Alright, as full swing as it got at the Bronze on a Thursday night. But it was crowded enough that he couldn't find her right off, and his throat was thick with nerves as he retreated into his familiar space beneath the stairs.<p>

After a few tension filled moments where he thought maybe he was wrong, and she didn't actually show tonight, there was a part in the crowd, and he could see her. His Faith. He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding; just to see her so vibrant and full of life like that. Especially when just months ago she was pale and haggard, weighed down with loss and frequenting the cem – no. Spike slammed that train of thought to a halt, taking an angry swallow of the beer in his hand.

Instead of tearing a bloody hole in his chest by thinking so bloody much, he watched her dance; mesmerized just as much as the first time he'd seen her. She was the very definition of man's downfall, and she knew it. She used it to her advantage, throwing around those sultry looks with pouty lips and bedroom eyes to get what she wanted. Spike used to be the sole target of those lips…those eyes…those hands that were now running up the chest of the closest male body to her.

A low growl left his scowling mouth, the sole thought in his mind screaming _'mine!'_ But, of course, she wasn't his anymore. He'd made sure of that. For her to be happy, she couldn't remember him – or anything that went with him. And that was what he wanted, he reminded himself forcefully, clutching the bottle in his hand so tightly it was threatening to shatter. He wanted her happy. She deserved it…so much more than he did.

Not one for such dramatics as throwing his bottle at that thick blockhead trying to move in on his woman anymore, Spike just heaved a sigh and slammed it down on a nearby table instead. Christ, wouldn't he love to just throttle that random bloke…but the burden of laying low and that pesky soul and all that forced him to control himself. It was why he took out all his rage and hurt and pain in killing demons – because at least he could kill something. Kept the bright and shiny's off his back, too, which didn't hurt.

Besides, if he snapped that idiot's neck, Faith was sure to notice him. And that was the last thing he needed. Clearly, he could hardly handle just watching her…actually seeing those bedroom eyes pointing in his direction had to be out of the question.

Admitting defeat to himself – this had been a bloody stupid idea, he should have known better – he stalked out of the club, thinking a big, slimy demon sounded like just the thing to keep his mind otherwise occupied.

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><p>Faith looked up, the dazed, unaware state she slid into while dancing falling away as the back of her neck prickled and she felt a slight shudder run through her.<p>

Vampire.

Extracting herself from the meaty hands currently pawing at her breasts, she made it to the fringes of the crowd in time enough to see a flash of blonde and leather swoop angrily through the door. Blonde and leather? She knew blonde and leather. That vampire, Spike, that had terrorized Sunnydale a while ago.

She'd never met him, she didn't even know much about him, really. Except for what B and Giles told her when he came up in Vamp History 101. Crazy evil, tendency to kill Slayers – and, above all – stay away. They must have drilled that into her head about a hundred times. If you see him, do not engage, go call for backup – or better yet just leave.

Right, well, screw that.

So, Faith had some options now. She could reach into her pocket, and ring up G-man to let him know big, bad and blonde was back in town and wait for orders or she could pick up that pool cue and take out a master vampire. Major karma points, right?

She voted for taking out the vampire. Who needed nights off, anyway?

Snapping the cue in half over her knee, she strode purposefully out into the alley behind the Bronze, glancing either way to figure out where he'd gone. It wasn't hard to track him at all…for a 'Big Bad' he was pretty damn careless. From her vantage point in the shadows behind him, she could tell he was drunk. Sloppy drunk, even. He stumbled along, and she had to bite back a few snickers at his ridiculous mutterings.

Faith easily followed him to a graveyard she frequented during patrol, and as they began to near what looked like a deserted crypt, Faith paused, confused. It was like she was having the weirdest sense of deja vu. True, she came this way on patrol all the time, which explained why it looked familiar. But it didn't explain the sense of familiarity she was associating with it now. Huh. Wiggy.

Shrugging it off as those two glasses of Jack she'd had back at the Bronze talking, Faith came into the open, several yards behind him. "Hey, Blondie. You come here often?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - **Okay basically this is gratuitous flashback smut, because the present narrative isn't going to have any room for those sorts of shenanigans for a _while.  
><em>Also I didn't really intend for this fic to end up in a mostly Spike POV (I was going for third person all around) but it's looking like it wants to go that way so we'll see! And if there's any confusion, the majority of what happened up to the point the present starts in (beginning of chapter one) will be told through scattered flashbacks. And if you're hoping for any sort of tangible timeline...I can't help you. Lol. Assume that nothing canon goes in this world after Season 3 unless it's specifically said so in the story. That's the best I can do for you.

Reviews satiate my laziness and make me update faster! ;)

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><p>"<em>Hey, Blondie. You come here often?"<em>

Just the sound of her voice, in that teasing 'I'm going to kill you' lilt, threw him with the memories that came with it.

* * *

><p>It was two years ago, and he still had that bloody chip in his head. At the time he'd been sulking in the Bronze, nursing a drink and wishing more than anything that he could eat someone. Christ, he was hungry. He had just been leaving, deciding he was much too big and bad to sit here sulking at a human bar. It was downright pitiful, it was.<p>

And then she fell out of the throng of bodies and smack into him – and to this day he wondered if she did it on purpose, but, of course, she'd never tell him – and at first all he could sense was the pure power radiating off of her and he thought he better get the fuck out of there before he ended up a big pile of dust on the floor.

She was gorgeous, deadly beautiful – like a black widow, he thought. Seducing hapless, poor men with her dark hair that tumbled around her in lush curls, and her sinuous curves that promised any number of sins, all to entice them to her web of death that seemed to curl around her, threatening to trap anyone stupid enough to get too close. He was fascinated by her, she reeked of death and of power, and he did always have a weakness for brunettes not entirely on their rocker.

But, no, he couldn't drain this one dry after he'd had his fun. The power and strength she exuded told him as much, not to mention the mental cage his true beast had been locked up in.

He had to get out of there, before it was too late.

But then she hit him with hooded bedroom eyes and a mischievous smirk, pulled a man's wallet out of her back pocket and said "Hey, Blondie…want a drink? He's buying."

Right then he knew he was bloody done for. And before he could so much as react, she was pulling up a stool at the bar and ordering two shots of Jack. A woman after his own heart. He found himself compelled to join her, attracted to her burning presence like a moth to a flame, and sat next to her, not missing her self-satisfied smirk as if she'd just been counting down how long it'd take him to do so.

"A Slayer stealing from the innocent?" He tsk'd, looking her over slowly, trying to figure out her angle "Not exactly in the handbook, I'd wager."

Faith snorted, downing her shot without any ceremony. "Ask me if I care, Blondie."

She hadn't even questioned how he knew she was a Slayer. He supposed this spoke to the reckless quality he could already see pouring off her in waves. So, she must know what he was – and yet, here they were, drinking together like old pals. Oh, he liked this Slayer so much more then Buffy already.

"You're Spike, right? William the Bloody?" She inquired after a beat. Huh, she even knew who he was and still, there was no stake poking out of his chest yet.

"That's right, love. In the flesh." Thinking maybe he could get the cheap thrill of just the scent of her fear – even if he couldn't taste it – he leaned in close, dropping his voice and brushing the hair away from her neck "Scared?"

But it wasn't fear that rose off her skin in heavy waves next, oh no, that was lust. The unmistakable scent of desire. Oh, _bloody_ hell he liked her so much more then Buffy.

"I heard you were neutered, there, Billy. So, no, I can't say as I'm too worried you're gonna kill me. But…" A hand was slowly moving up the inside of his thigh, and his gaze dropped to watch its torturous ascent, much too focused on this one, singular movement to notice anything else.

And as he felt the cool, sharpened tip of a stake pressed to his chest, and she burst out laughing, he realized this woman was playing him like a bloody violin. She grinned, keeping the tip of the wood nicely pointed at his heart, "..just in case I heard wrong, it doesn't hurt to have a little back up, am I right?"

"You heard right." Spike muttered through gritted teeth, disheartened. Damn, he didn't even get to play being a big bad anymore. It was really quite demoralizing. "Now get rid of that bloody stake, so we can have a nice drink like civilized people."

He felt oddly proud for pulling a surprised laugh from her as she slipped the wood back into her belt loops. "I like you, Billy. You're fun." She flashed him those damn bedroom eyes, twinkling with hints that she much more in store for him, and took his drink, polishing it off for him.

"You seem to be a bit of fun yourself, love." He raised his eyebrows at her, wondering how on Earth this broad was a Slayer. All the white hats had to want her dead, if he was right and she really was some kind of renegade Slayer.

"Do ya' wanna test that theory, Fangs?" She asked, with a low, sultry tone that had him straining to keep control. Christ, yes, he wanted to. He didn't even know her name, and she was all but throwing herself at him. Her booted foot ran a slow caress up his leg, and she regarded him with a smoldering look. "You can't kill…but does that little problem of yours put a damper on the other fun parts of your miserable un-life?"

Her eyebrows rose teasingly as her full mouth caressed the word 'fun' like she was just daring him to take this bait. He couldn't yet tell if this was a scam, or a trap, but frankly he didn't bloody care much either way if the evening was taking a turn in the direction he thought it was. So, in response, he smirked, curling his tongue up behind his teeth. "You propositionin' me, Slayer?"

"Am I?" She was daring him, taunting him, dangling the prize in front of his face and making him be the one to reach out and grab it.

And since Spike wanted nothing more than to retake control of his life – in any way possible – this was too golden an opportunity to turn down. So, he took her dare, grabbing her wrist and pulling her behind him out of the club. Of course, he knew he wouldn't have been able to do so unless she wanted him to – obviously she was a fair bit stronger than him, not to mention the bloody chip in his head. So it was fairly clear she wanted this. For a reason he could not fathom, she wanted him leading her down the few streets it took to get to the crypt he was calling home these days.

And good God, did he want it too.

He wanted it so badly, that he did not even protest when she got tired of pretending to be dragged along and shoved him against the smooth, cold stone of the outside of his crypt. In fact, he thought he might have grunted in approval.

Oh, and she knew bloody well what she was doing to him. She reveled in it. That much was clear by the wild gleam in her eyes, and the cocky smirk on her face as she pinned his arms to his side, leaning herself flush against him.

With his eyes focused on the twin globes of tanned perfection mashed against his chest, he heard – rather then saw – her laugh as his raging hard-on pressed against her thigh. His eyes snapped up to meet her twinkling ones, and he smirked.

"Don't be shy, pet, there's a bed in there if you'd like to quit mucking about and have some fun." He drawled, taking in her surprised expression with a note of pride. Clearly, she hadn't been expecting him to take any sort of lead tonight. Well, too sodding bad for her, he was William the Bloody! He was the Slayer of Slayers, and a right animal in bed to boot. He'd put this Slayer in her place, even if he couldn't kill her.

"Lead the way, Billy." She let him go, her tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip as she watched him. He met her gaze steadily, calmly holding her there with nothing but his eyes for a long moment, enjoying the flushed increase of desire he felt permeate the air as he did so.

Oh ho, she thought she was going to be the one in total control here tonight, did she? How wrong she was, he thought as he entered the darkened crypt, strolling at his usual swagger to the ladder that led into the cavern below.

Spike could hear her – feel her – following at a careful distance behind him. And once they'd dropped into the cozy little cavern he called home, he felt her stiffen and tense, as if expecting a trap. Well, he admitted, had he been up to his usual games, this probably would have been trap. But, he lamented as he lit several candles for light, this was a casual lay. Nothing more, nothing less. No killing or biting…maiming, or tearing her throat out…

He growled low, the demon in him becoming excited at that train of thought and the rest of him frustrated that he couldn't act on these basic desires. The shiver that ran up this dark Slayer's spine didn't help much either. Fear only furthered his aggression, making his mouth water and his eyes darken with unfulfilled blood lust and anger.

He turned on her then, cornering her into an alcove provided by the natural landscape of the cavern. She'd either momentarily forgotten he couldn't hurt her, or had some incredibly unhealthy desire for it to play out this way, because she complied to his movements fluidly, moving back as he moved forward until she was pressed against the rock wall, staring up at him with a look mixed of lust and defiance.

The sharp intake of breath as he bent his head down, his lips hovering above her – delectable – throat was not missed by him, and he smirked. At least the chip hadn't affected this aspect of his life as devastatingly as the other parts of it. He could still get a bird hot and bothered with a few well-placed grins, and smoldering stares.

She was growing impatient, despite her apparent desire to give him some of the reigns. He could tell by the way her stance shifted slightly, her hands that curled in his black t-shirt and oh, it was a pretty good sign she wanted to get on with it when he blinked and she'd thrown him across the cavern and onto the rickety mattress at the far end. Well, fine by him.

_More_ than fine by him, he amended, as she smiled a wicked smile and sauntered towards the bed, peeling off her glittery tank top and dropping it to the floor as she did so. He propped himself up on his elbows to better enjoy the show and was rewarded with a nice little shimmy as she kicked her black leather pants off and aside. He had a feeling she'd done this before, was maybe an old pro and all that.

Spike wasn't given much time to reflect on how experienced his black widow was, as she was suddenly on him, moving with predatory grace as she crawled up his body. He was pinned down with steel arms and she straddled him with a gleam in her eyes that had him desperate to remove the rest of the barriers of cloth separating him from that warm, honeyed skin that was enveloping his senses.

The two weren't much for conversation, he noted, as instead of giving her any vocal clues to what he wanted, he arched a scarred eyebrow that said all he really needed to say anyway. _Fuck me, Slayer. _

She took his silent directive to heart, her head dropping to meet his lips in a hungry, searing kiss that matched their equally dominant personalities in a passionate battle of tongues and teeth. He dimly heard a ripping sound – his shirt! She'd ripped his shirt in two, oh bloody hell, he'd _liked_ that shirt, stupid bin- and then her mouth was on his skin, teeth nipping lightly (and then not so lightly) at his nipples, and he didn't really give a flying fuck about the state of his clothing anymore.

A rumbling growl in his chest affirmed he was well pleased with the state of things – and damn if this broad wasn't _talented_. Her hands were snaking down to work at the catch of his dark denim jeans as she nipped and sucked and licked at the skin between his jaw and his collarbone. And as her practiced hands pulled his jeans roughly down and off, he decided he was tired of this dance and really, really wanted to fuck this Slayer.

Since she had relaxed her hold on him to take his pants off, he took advantage of this and slid his hands up her forearms before gripping tightly – not too tightly, as he was already feeling warning twinges in the recesses of his skull – and rolling them over so he was on his hands and knees, hovering over her near completely naked body. Oh yeah, he liked this much better.

A well placed tug, and her scrap of fabric that passed for underwear was ripped off and tossed aside. He paused momentarily, her heady scent of arousal assaulting his nostrils as he could fairly see the way she glistened with need for him. The look of indignant anger on her face only made him chuckle – here was clearly a girl that wanted to top, be dominant, take control.

Too bad. He had control issues, too.

Before she could put those angry Slayer muscles to work, and turn the tables right back over, he thrust into her (going commando really did pay off, how 'bout that) with no fanfare, or romantic overtones. This was sex. A dark, violent coupling in the black of night in a dank underground lair, and he wouldn't namby about, pretending it was anything but what it was.

She cried out, head lolling back against the dark red sheets and he exhaled a rough, unnecessary breath at the sensation of her tight heat encasing him with an iron grip covered in satin.

"Oh God," She cried out again, "God!" …and again "_God!_"

* * *

><p>"God," A sarcastic voice scoffed loudly, yanking from his memories and back into the present with forceful clarity. "You alive in there, Blondie? Jesus, you are piss drunk. This wouldn't even be a fair fight, really."<p>

Spike turned slowly, shaking the painfully sharp memories off of him as he wished fervently that he was just hallucinating. That Faith wasn't standing in front of him with a stake in her hand a cocky grin on her face.

But he was not so lucky.

"Slayer." He managed with a choked voice. It pained him, physically pained him, to call her that. It had taken them God knows how long to get past the defensive wall of nicknames, to their real names. And he treasured her name. Faith. His Faith. She had been his salvation, and now she was here to kill him. It seemed poetic, somehow.

"Oh, goody, you know me. Reputation proceed me? Scared of the big, bad Slayer?" Faith taunted, knowing full well she wasn't going to kill him tonight. It would hardly be an even fight, and she liked a challenge – not a pushover. Plus, if this guy was ever a big bad at all, he had certainly fallen far from that apple tree. He was stumbling drunk, he looked like a wreck – she almost felt bad for the guy.

And it really was too bad she was pulling for the good guys now, she thought wistfully, as she pocketed her stake. He was gorgeous, the whole vampire thing aside. All sharp edges and wild looking, piercing blue eyes and cheekbones that could cut glass. Oh yeah, she'd totally go for him in a hot second if he wasn't, like, public enemy number one. Crying shame.

He hadn't said a word yet, besides acknowledging her presence. Faith wondered what was wrong with this guy, but shrugged it off easily. The woes of some vampire past his prime weren't exactly on the top of her 'give a fuck' list. He was just staring at her, almost confused looking. She chalked it up to confusion as to why he wasn't dust yet and put a hand on her hip as she took a few steps backwards.

"I like my fights with a bit more bite then you look up to, there, Billy." She said with an easy shrug. "But I'll see you around. Count on it." Faith winked saucily, turning her back to him and sprinting out of the cemetery. Giles would probably have her head for going off so recklessly after William the Bloody Drunkard, she thought with a chuckle as she jogged home. And then he'd probably berate her for letting him get away, but…it just didn't seem fair. Not that she really cared whether that vamp lived or died, but, still.

With Faith completely out of his line of sight, and smell, Spike took a steadying breath he didn't need and finished the short walk to his crypt. He stumbled over to the stone slab that had a tacky comforter on top of it for some semblance of soft, and laid out on top of it. He couldn't go into the cavern, not tonight. There were too many memories there, and his head was already reeling quite too much for his liking.

She was on the hunt for him now, conditioned to believe he was Big Bad Vampire Spike that deserved nothing better than a stake to the heart.

Maybe that is what he deserved.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N - WOW I'm sorry this took so long to update, but a huge shout out to my friends for putting a bet over my head to get it updated by tonight :) And I'd like to give a special acknowledgement to my friend, Kylee (thecoffeemuggle*tumblr*com) for basically coming up with the entire plot and having a never ending wealth of ideas. All I've done is turn it into a coherent s****tory.**

**If you want to know about updates the second they get posted, you can follow my tumblr (the-lornettes*tumblr*com) because I post updates left and right there. :)**

**Thanks for reading, hope you guys like this one!**

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><p>"Did he actually stay in last night?"<p>

"Did you really imagine he would?" Came the soft spoken reply, eyebrows arched over a coffee cup to convey what they all already knew. Of course Spike did not just stay home, why would he?

"No…I guess not." Buffy said with a resigned sigh, her head flopped down onto folded arms on Giles' kitchen counter. "But he really should have!" She said indignantly, bringing her head back up to rant properly at her Watcher. "I mean, what if he ran into Faith? God, can you imagine the suck factor in that little meet and greet? And not to mention the fact that she thinks he's still evil guy, which – can I just say for the jillionth time was so _not_ a good idea. If he wants to –"

"Buffy." Giles cut her off with a weary look that spoke to how many times they had had this particular argument. "I am quite aware that you don't agree, but the fact is you don't have to. It's Spike's decision, and considering…well, considering the circumstances, I truly believe it is not up to us to intervene. No matter how awful an idea it was, or how guaranteed it is to backfire." He finished with a dry expression, and took his glasses off to clean them for something to cover up his own disdain of the vampire's vehement orders to keep himself as an evil, murdering villain in Faith's eyes.

"What's gonna backfire G-man? 'Cus that sounds like a party to me."

"Faith," Giles cleared his throat almost guiltily as Faith entered the apartment. He gave Buffy a look that said very clearly that they were done here for now as he exited the kitchen and slipped his glasses back on to join the brunette Slayer currently propping her muddy boots onto his antique coffee table. "Ah, nothing, nothing. Just talking." He swatted her shoes off the table, and she gave him a cheeky grin in return as he sat down.

Buffy stayed where she was, spinning in her barstool to address the two in the living room. "So, what's the what, Faith? How was your night off?"

"Not so off." Faith replied, folding her arms behind her head and looking visibly more at ease than the two of them put together. "That's why I swung by, actually –"

Busy recounting her night, she missed Giles' disapproving cluck. As if she didn't know she was instructed to 'swing by' every morning with any reports of anything unusual found while patrolling. But, then again if whatever it was was enough to get Faith's rather lax attention, then it must warrant some concern. He leaned forward, listening again.

"I ran into your bestest vampire pal," Faith said easily, with a nod in Buffy's direction. Buffy leaned forward and looked at Faith intently; the glimmer of hope in her expression betraying exactly which vampire she thought was in town. "_Not_ the broody wonder. Blonde and leather." She added for clarification, propping her boots up on the table again as Buffy and Giles shared a weighted glance.

Oblivious, Faith continued on. "Let me tell you, that guy is not up to big bad standards. I can't believe he gave you guys so much hell way back when, because from what I saw…he's fallen a long ways from villainous murderer and more into the washed up and drunk category. Not even worth the time to stake him." She shook her head, as if she pitied him, and shrugged. To Faith this was of no major importance. Nothing to even bat an eyelash at. Just reporting a vampire sighting to her pseudo-watcher and moving on. Five by five.

Giles let out an imperceptible sigh of relief upon learning that Faith hadn't slain Spike. It almost pained him to admit it, but Spike had become an invaluable member of their team. He was their best fighter, besides Buffy, and his sheer ferocity coupled with the fact that he did not rest meant that vampire numbers were lower than they ever had been before. Yes, it was true that he would be sorry to see Spike go, if the day ever came.

Knowing that he had to get Faith out of earshot, if Buffy's bouncing in her seat was any indication of how much she wanted to "spill the beans"; Giles cleared his throat and gave Buffy a quick warning glance. "Well, thank you for bringing that to my attention, Faith. I rather thought he would be well out of town…In any case, I shall do some asking around and you and Buffy will patrol tonight, as usual. Keeping an extra sharp eye, I think."

Faith shrugged again, and nodded. She swung her feet down from the coffee table and stood easily, before sauntering towards the front door. Pointing to Buffy as she walked backwards out the door, she grinned. "See you around ten, B? Whadya think, Restfield?"

Buffy didn't even have time to respond before the door swung shut, and Faith was long gone. "Restfield is where Spike is at!" She exclaimed to Giles, "She knows that! She just wants to pick a fight; we have to _tell her_, Giles, before she kills him."

Rubbing at his temple, hoping to relieve some stress, Giles nodded. "Yes, I agree that we do have to say something to keep her from doing what she thinks is her job." Suddenly, he looked up at Buffy sternly, pulling his glasses off. "But we will not tell her everything."

Buffy's mouth opened, and she looked about to argue, when Giles cut her off. "No! It is Spike's decision. He made his bed and now he'll lie in it. When you see her on patrol tonight…" He trailed off, sliding his glasses back on as he thought of a good enough story to keep a distrustful Faith from slaying Spike. "Tell her that before she came back to town, Spike had gone crazy. Gotten a soul, and gone crazy. He didn't stay for long…he just left, unable to deal with his past actions haunting him all around Sunnydale. Make sure she knows we merely assumed him to have died in some foreign country and that's why we never told her anything of it – we didn't see the relevance."

"You really think she'll buy that?" Buffy raised a disbelieving eyebrow, crossing her arms.

"If you make it quite clear we still believe him to be unstable and unpredictable, there's a good chance she'll even stay away from him. Faith never was one for leaping selflessly into a battle that wasn't necessary for her to fight." He regretted his phrasing almost immediately, as they both went silent for a long moment, remembering the one time when she had done exactly that.

* * *

><p>"So, a soul? What, you mean, like Angel?"<p>

"Yeah, sort of. But I think he got it differently – some kind of fight to the death, macho type thing." Buffy nodded, idly playing with the stake in her hands as the two of them walked around the outskirts of Restfield Cemetery. It was a conscious effort on Buffy's part, keeping them away from the guts of the graveyard, wanting to get Giles' ridiculous cover story out before there was any possibility of them running into Spike.

But her fears of Faith seeing through this flimsy lie were not necessary as Faith merely shrugged, totally unbothered by this new information. "Makes sense – he seemed a little crazy when I saw him, you know?"

When Faith stopped talking for a while, both of them slipping into patrol mode, Buffy thought the issue was done with. That she could breath and pat herself on the back for saving Spike's life and stopping Faith from killing the one guy she'd ever seen make her actually happy. But, Faith spoke up after a few yards, apparent curiosity getting the best of her.

"But, why'd he get it? The soul, I mean? It doesn't really make sense – I mean, wasn't he, like, famous for shoving railroad spikes into people's heads and stuff? So, how do you go from _that_ to all repent-y and soul getting?"

Buffy wanted to turn around right then, shake Faith by the shoulders and scream at her that it was for _her. He went out of his way and got it for you! Remember! _

But what she really did was shrug, and shake her head. "Who knows? He was crazy, I guess." She bit down on her lip, and did turn around to face Faith then, slipping her stake into her jacket. "Look, it's mega quiet tonight. And I'm pretty wiped…why don't we just call it a night?"

Faith looked for a long moment over Buffy's shoulder into the heart of the graveyard, seeming to decide something. "…Yeah, alright. Hey, you know me – I'll jump at the chance to get off work early." She gave Buffy an easy grin and a friendly punch to the arm before taking off in the opposite direction, headed back to her motel.

Buffy watched her go, a long sigh leaving her. This was _way_ too stressful, she thought with a shake of her head before turning to go back to her own home. Whatever happened to the good, old days, where all the vampires were evil and she didn't have to run around like crazy trying to keep one of them – an old enemy at that! – alive and well? She liked those days. With a huff, Buffy put it out of her mind for now, determined to get home and take a relaxing bubble bath and forget all about it.

* * *

><p><em>It's bright where she is. So bright, she can hardly see. A harsh, blinding kind of light seems to filter through the entire world, making everything fuzzy and tinged in white. It's warm, though. Nice. She's happy here, wherever here is.<em>

_She can see a figure in the distance, waiting for her and waving her over. It wants her to come closer. She obliges, and she thinks the small figure is standing near a playground slide. When she is close enough she can tell he is a little boy. His face is completely obscured, the harsh light of this world washing him out and making him seem to glow within. But she gets the impression that he is blonde, and this makes her happy – though she doesn't know why._

_She knows that she loves this boy. She knows it like she knows her own name. It isn't even a question. She knows it. It is a fact to her. As plain as the very bright day they are standing in. She isn't even sure who he is, or what he looks like. She does not know his name. But she loves him. It hits her like a startling realization, just how much she cares about this little boy. It's the kind of love she doesn't ever remember feeling before, and it fills her with warmth, flooding her with it. She doesn't want to leave this boy, or this bright, warm place ever._

_A voice floats through the world, and it takes her a moment to recognize it as her own. She hears herself telling the little boy that she will catch him when he comes down the slide, encouraging him to go._

_The little boy doesn't respond at first. He takes a long moment, his obscured face turning away from her before coming back. She doesn't see him speak, can't see his mouth. But she hears the voice, a child's voice – hopeful, innocent and pleading._

_"Will you always be there? To catch me?"_

_She wants to answer badly; she wants to reassure this little boy. Make him feel taken care of and comforted and reassured that she will never let him down. But she can't breathe now, it feels like hands are wrapping around her throat, stopping her from speaking as the world cracks, splinters and shifts to something terrible._

_It's dark where she is now. So dark she can hardly see in front of her. And it's cold. She gets the sense of foreboding – that something awful is about to happen, if it hasn't happened already. She thinks she is up very high, although she can't see around her to confirm this._

_Suddenly there is a flash, a blinding blue light that seems to rip the very world open wherever it touches. And she's screaming and screaming, this can't be happening, this wasn't supposed to happen, she should have stopped this. But no one can hear her, her voice gets caught in the wind and she is screaming in vain and there's nothing she can do now._

_She runs forward, towards the blue light – but a part of her knows it is in vain, she won't make it in time, but she can try. The more she runs, though, it seems the farther away the blue light is, she is never going to make it. Never going to save the day. Never going to catch the little boy._

* * *

><p>With a startled gasp, Faith shot up in her bed, a hand pressed to her pounding chest and her legs tangled in sheets dampened with sweat. Pressing a shaky hand to her face, she was surprised to find tear tracks there, like she had been crying in her sleep. The dream was quickly slipping from her grasp, though several pieces stood out very clearly to her. That bright blue light was wicked freaky, and she distinctly remembered a little boy, though she had no idea who he was.<p>

Flopping back down onto the covers, she turned her head to look at the clock. 4:37 am. With a huff, she turned her head back, making a mental note to bring up whatever she had just dreamt about to Giles tomorrow, in case it was some kind of Slayer dream or something.

Still shaky, her breathing seemed to be taking forever to slow back down to normal. Whatever that was, it had been pretty fucking intense.

"What the _hell_ was that?" She muttered to herself, before giving up on trying to get back to sleep and clicking the television on as she waited for daybreak to come.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **WOW this is like, um, months and months late? But I just wasn't really in a space to write (though I love these crazy kids and I really want to get this story out of my brain) and all of a sudden it was like BAM inspiration on a plane ride, and I banged this out and here it is! I'm on vacation, so here's hoping I will get out semi-regular updates for anyone who is even still reading this, as well as something new I'm working on.

THANK YOU for reading, if you are!

And double thank you for reviews, they feed my soul and my hungry typing fingers.

* * *

><p>Spike sat on the ground, hardly bothered by the damp or cold as he leaned back against a wide tree. It was a good spot, with a view of his graveyard. He'd taken to sitting there and having one more smoke in the last hour before dawn, looking on at the seemingly quiet and peaceful view below, contemplating just how much turmoil and grief was hidden there, buried just below the surface.<p>

And he should know, having buried his own grief only a few yards away.

Lately, he'd taken to pushing his luck. Staying beneath his tree longer and longer, almost daring the sun to come and get him. Sometimes he thought he might just sod it all, close his eyes and just wait for the relief of nothingness to come. He bloody well didn't have the strength to stake himself, but…just sitting, waiting for the sun? He thought he could do that pretty easily. Might even be a nice way to go out. Probably be warm.

He shook his head, exhaling a stream of smoke in a long sigh. It was those kinds of thoughts that had been threatening to drown him for months now, and only one thing was keeping him from going through with them.

He'd done what he'd done to be the strong one. She was too broken to be strong, no matter how much she defied it, tried to show him how she could be okay…he knew. He always knew. He always did have a knack for cutting right through her bullshit.

He remembered the day he'd told the witches what he wanted to do and asked for their help like someone would remember having to saw off their arm. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but it was the only thing he could think to do. He had been a desperate man, trapped in a desperate situation and he'd done what he'd had to do.

For her.

Always for her.

So, taking the easy way out and offing himself? Well, it would sort of make his whole martyr bit kind of a moot point.

Plus, he noted, flicking his cigarette away with a rueful smile, he could just imagine Faith going off on him for even thinking about it. She'd probably call him a pussy, he thought, the smallest trace of a smile on his face as he thought of his fiery Faith.

The first touches of sunlight were beginning to show just above the horizon, and Spike took that as his cue to go home. He wouldn't do anything drastic, or stupid – at least not today.

* * *

><p>"So, can you do it?" Spike's voice was terse; thin with desperation and panic and a million other things that he forced beneath the surface because the only thing he could be was strong. Because somebody ought to be the strong one.<p>

Across the small hospital room, Willow's gaze flickered from the vampire pleading for her help to the broken woman lying unconscious against the stiff pillows.

"You have to understand what you're asking for. This isn't anything to be taken lightly, or decided with emotions running high." She tried her best to sound authoritative, but also gentle, because Goddess knows that all Spike needs right now is someone to be there for him. In front of her, Tara sat stoically in a bedside chair, stroking Faith's unresponsive hand with her thumb.

"Willow is right." She spoke up quietly, putting her hands carefully in her lap and watching Spike's bowed head across the bed from her. "Th-there's no take-back's with something like this. Could you live like that, f-forever?"

The silence in between the not-quite denials, but clearly apprehensive responses, and Spike's answer, was pregnant with tension. He brushed a strand of hair away from Faith's face – so carefully, like he thought he might break her with a simple touch – and let out a long sigh, before crossing the room to stand with Willow in the doorway.

"Please, Red.." His voice cracked in a way that had Willow yearning to do anything in her power to help him, to fix his pain and make everything better. "She'll try again. I know it, I know her. And I can't-" A choked sound stopped his second attempt at convincing her, and he had to take a deep, steadying breath before he could keep going.

"If I have to lose her, I'd rather it be like this."

Willow knew then that she would do the spell. It went against all her better judgment, but there was a broken man in front of her, a shattered Slayer lying in a hospital bed…the people she knew were dropping like flies, and if this was the only thing that would help then she would do it.

"Okay…okay. By this time tomorrow, she won't remember you, or this, or any of the things that got her here."

* * *

><p>Spike's reverie on the day that had shaped the rest of his miserable unlife was cut short by the tell-tale scraping of stone on stone that meant someone was opening the door to his crypt.<p>

Giles entered hesitantly; well aware he could find the vampire in one of two states – completely inebriated and too surly to deal with, or hung over and just melancholy enough that he'd be able to hold a civil conversation. He sincerely hoped that Spike was hung over. They needed to speak, and they needed to do it soon. Faith was becoming more and more cognizant of her situation with every passing day, and the dreams she'd come to him with was the thing to tip him into desperation enough to go and reason with Spike.

"And what do you want, Watcher Boy? Little busy, if you can't tell." Spike indicated the half empty bottle of whiskey in his lap with a curt nod, skeptical eyebrows glowering at the former Watcher, wary of what was coming.

Giles sighed. He should have seen surly coming from a mile away, but the hopes of men and all that. "Please, Spike, it's urgent." He did his best to convey exactly how serious his visit was, but was greeted with nothing more than a derisive snort bordering on mocking.

"What? Not killing your baddies up to spec, am I?"

With a shake of his head – he wished it were that simple – he sat gingerly on the small coffee table across from Spike, with a quick moment to hope that it wouldn't drop him on his behind.

What he had to say would not be greeted well by the vampire. That much was obvious. He would have to approach with delicacy, making sure not to set off any conversational landmines. Spike did not talk about Faith. He didn't listen to anyone else talk about Faith. And as far as Giles knew, he took extra care to avoid her altogether.

Except apparently, a few nights ago. At the Bronze.

"It's Faith."

He was met with the kind of silence only a vampire could maintain, waiting with held breath to see how Spike would respond.

Spike's jaw clenched, hand tightened on the neck of his bottle. And all he could think in his head was a jumbled mess of Faith. Was she alright? What was wrong? Had she gotten hurt? Oh, Christ, it had something to do with his careless stalking of her, didn't it? Did she…was she…remember- _No, don't get ahead of yourself, mate._

"What 'bout Faith?"

Giles almost breathed a sigh of relief at the relatively calm reaction, but didn't want to jinx himself, as they hardly gotten to the worse of it. He decided the best approach would be to just jump in. Lighten the load with the cold reality of all the facts, perhaps.

"She's been complaining to me – well, not complaining. You know Faith. – But nevertheless, she's come to me with recurring dreams she's been having. And while I won't burden you with those details, I do have firm suspicion that they are a result of small pieces of her subconscious surfacing in a vague manner, namely dreams, while she sleeps." He took a breath to steady himself for the rest; Spike's carefully composed stoic face looking back at him.

"And I believe, that these…flashes, of memory, have only started to come up because of a trigger. You, Spike. When you ran into her at the Bronze, I'm afraid her subconscious – however buried – recognized you, and brought what few scraps of memory she had left to the surface of her sleeping mind."

Spike kept his face passive. Blank as he could. He should've known. He should've bloody _known_ it was every kind of wrong to try and see her. Of _course_ she was gonna discover him, and of _course_ they would have a half-baked confrontation that had some kind of cataclysmic consequences. And then there was the tiniest bloom of hope in his shriveled and dead heart. If she was already remembering bits and pieces on her own…

"But, she's alright? Don't remember 'cept for dreams?" He had to know. Had to make sure he hadn't ruined everything he'd tried to do for her.

Had to squash that little sprout of hope before it killed him.

"As far as I can tell, yes that's correct. The spell is still holding, she doesn't remember you or anything else. It's just dreams." Giles gave the vampire a sad look, full of pity. Because, while they had been grave enemies only two years ago, he felt genuine sorrow for what Spike was going through. He wasn't sure he himself would be able to carry through with such a task, if put in the same situation. "But, I thought you should know."

"We had to tell her that you were ensouled, and working with Buffy." He continued, "She was suspicious, but she's agreed not to kill you on patrols, which is fortunate."

The look on Spike's face had him wondering if it really was such a turn of fortune to be guaranteed a longer life.

Looking down the bridge of his nose, he steeled himself. This would be the hardest part of all, and he honestly had no idea how Spike would respond. So far, all his responses had been stoic and calm, much to Giles' surprise – quite frankly, it was a toss-up.

"In order to keep her from getting suspicious and to keep you alive…you're going to have to patrol with her. She thinks you work with us, it would only be natural. Spike, can you handle that? You'll have to act as if you never knew her…never loved her…I imagine it would be as if when you first met. Though, perhaps less violent."

Spike balked on the inside. No, he couldn't fucking handle that. He could hardly handle seeing her from across a crowded bar, just knowing that she wouldn't be coming home to him at the end of her night. He'd spent four months now _not handling it_. Drinking, and killing things, and really, really not handling it.

But working alongside her. Partners again. They'd made a brilliant team, working in tandem like a singular unit. Even if she wouldn't remember how they'd use to be, they could be that way again. That would be worth dying a little on the inside every day. It could be.

"I'll do it. Hurt like bloody hell, but I'll do it." Spike nodded once at Giles, a terse jerk of his head before he lifted the bottle back to his mouth, taking a hearty swallow. "S'that all, mate? 'Cus I'm a little tired over her. Day hours and all."

Unable to articulate a very intelligent response, Giles just nodded, standing and brushing his trousers off. Well, he hadn't known what to expect, and it was still surprising that Spike had agreed. He only hoped that he wouldn't get too hurt in the process. Unrequited love was torture enough on the soul…but love gone known and then forgotten. He imagined it was a crushing thing, and had to respect the vampire for carrying on as he had.

"Thank you. I'll call you with more details, tonight, I suspect." Pleasantries were wasted on Spike, though, who had already gone back to his bottle, sure to pass out face down in his crypt as soon as he could stagger his way over there. So, Giles ceded, heading towards the door left ajar.

But a halted voice from behind stopped him, and he half turned in the doorway to see what Spike had left to say.

"She still living in that dingy motel room? All on her own?"

"Uh, yes, but I don't-"

"Get her to come and stay with you. Buffy, the witches…don't care. She deserves better than that rat trap. Worked for it, even if she doesn't remember."

"Of course. I'll arrange it." Giles nodded, surprised at the request, and more moved than he would have liked to let on.

And Spike seemed to breathe the smallest sigh of relief, giving Giles a brief nod of recognition and thanks, before he left the crypt.

He didn't deserve half of what these people were doing for him, and it never stopped surprising him when they'd help him. At least it was for Faith. She needed the help, more often than not, and she was too bloody stubborn to ask for it.

But he knew her, knew every inch of her, body and soul, like he knew his own name. And he would help her. He'd stick to the shadows, and work strings behind curtains and follow her anonymously 'till the day he turned to ash, and he would never complain. Not even once.

Because it was for her.


End file.
